


Post-Truth

by Kahhhhn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Boys Being Boys, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friendship/Love, Horny Teenagers, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahhhhn/pseuds/Kahhhhn
Summary: Bran couldn't help that the person he felt attraction to was a boy just like himself.
Relationships: Jojen Reed/Bran Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	Post-Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I was not aware of how young these two were supposed to be at the time this is set when I started this story. Feel free to age them up in your head if you wish. I do, however, tactfully avoid any mentions of their ages in the fic and instead focus on the joyful and heady feeling of two young people in love for the first time (with a background of GoT angst of course). 
> 
> Even though it's set during season three, there are probably minor spoilers throughout this fic for the entire TV series. You may want to finish the series if you're watching it for the first time before reading this story.

Bran had entered puberty on his own. He had had no parental or adult guidance on what to do when the hormones hit him. In most ways, this was okay. Hodor wasn’t any use in matters such as these, but he also wasn’t going to notice if Bran made a little extra movement under his pile of furs, either.

Bran’s masturbatory fantasies thus far had been limited and uncreative, and somewhat worryingly not about women. (Worrying for the throne, he supposed, if he ever were to ascend it, not himself. He found he couldn’t quite think about women the same way he thought about men.)

When Osha had taken him under her protection, he had not thought of her as anything more than a guide figure. It was only later, after Meera had arrived, that Bran thought, idly, ‘Maybe I should feel attraction to one of them.’ For, although he found both women fierce and wonderful in their own ways, and longed for them to get along, he did not feel even an inkling of sexual desire for either of them.

It was different with Jojen. Right away, Jojen and he connected. Bran had been thrilled to find a familiar. He wanted so very much to learn what his green dreams meant and how to control them. Jojen was extremely useful on this front. He was patient and stoic and thoughtful, and it wasn’t long before Bran adored him. This should have alarmed him, but it did not. Bran felt a familiarity between them that he had never felt between even his own siblings and himself.

So it was not surprising to Bran when he began to think about Jojen sexually, too. Jojen was so thoughtful, and he got this crease between his eyebrows that Bran wanted to press his thumb against until his face relaxed again.

Jojen was kindly patient with Bran’s misunderstandings and frustrations—especially his feelings of uselessness. Whenever Bran would complain about how useless he was, lying on a cot in the middle of the forest, Jojen would immediately smile his small, empathetic smile, like he understood exactly how Bran felt. That smile somehow spoke volumes and made Bran feel less alone in the world, as well as uncomfortably aroused. He was always blushing and shifting away when Jojen graced him with one of his rare smiles.

Because of this it was a surprise when one day Meera brought up the subject of sleeping arrangements. What she said was:

“We need to reconsider how we’re sleeping now that we’re getting so close to the Wall.” She was skinning rabbits for supper with her usual vigor.

“Hodor?” Hodor questioned.

“What, why?” Bran said.

Jojen looked up from where he was sharpening arrowheads but immediately ducked his head back to his work.

Rickon remained leaning against Osha and staring idly up at the afternoon sky, while Osha nodded silently in agreement. Her hands were busy repairing the cot Hodor pulled Bran on.

“You are too cold, Bran,” Meera said matter-of-factly. “I see you shivering all night, and it will only get worse the closer we get to the Wall. I hate to think what you’ll be like beyond it.”

Bran bristled at the insinuation of weakness, even though he knew that wasn’t how she meant it. Pushing aside his own petty feelings, he said quickly,

“I don’t want Rickon taken away from Osha, they’re much too good together, and Rickon is too important.” He said this almost desperately, and he hoped it was understood that he cared about Rickon’s well-being more than because of the crown that could one day rest on his head. He knew it was when Jojen gave him a warm, approving smile across the clearing, but he ignored how his stomach flipped and focused on Meera instead.

“I wasn’t talking about switching them at all, don’t worry,” Meera said, a tad irritated. “I’ve seen my brother shivering at night, and his health needs to be kept up just as much as yours. There’s no sense in you both freezing to death—” Bran could see Osha nodding out of the corner of his eye, which was really strange, “—so, I had been thinking that you and Jojen needed to start sleeping together to share what little heat you both have.”

Jojen was no longer carving arrows, but instead he was looking straight at his sister, just as Bran was. It took a moment for Bran to compose himself enough to reply.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he got out. His voice was oddly tight. He was pointedly not looking at Jojen, fearful he’d see every sinful thought written on his face.

“I am not a child that needs coddled,” Jojen said quietly to Meera, and there was a note of petulance in his voice that Bran had never heard before. Bran risked looking at Jojen, but Jojen was staring moodily at his hands, where he was turning an arrowhead over and over.

Meera sighed huffily, saying how much older and wiser she was than the two of them with just that huff of breath, which annoyed Bran greatly.

“Neither of you are children, so don’t act like them. You both know it’s a sensible plan, and neither of you can risk sleeping next to Hodor since he’s so big.”

Hodor looked around at the mention of his name but said nothing. Jojen stared moodily at his hands some more, but Bran had to concede to himself that it probably was the best course of action if Meera had gotten Osha to agree with her. That was unprecedented.

“Well, all right,” Bran said eventually, when the silent tension in the group was almost audibly crackling. “I…am cold, the closer we get to the Wall, and I didn’t know Jojen was too.”

He looked at Jojen for confirmation—_Was this all right, had he said the wrong thing?_—but Jojen only looked at him for a moment and gave a short nod.

Bran’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, half tension and half excitement. But Osha and Meera seemed satisfied, and Rickon would be kept warm and safe, so Bran decided he was satisfied too.

It wasn’t long after dark, once they’d eaten their fill for once on rabbits Meera had cooked, that Jojen came to sit beside Bran. Bran knew it was time to sleep and that was the reason Jojen had come to sit with him, but he smiled out of genuine happiness anyway. He hoped he wasn’t too obvious.

“Do you want to sleep on the inside or outside?” Jojen asked politely.

Bran thought for a moment. He had always slept in the curve of Osha’s body when she had held him at night, and he had held Rickon in the curve of his. That had been their arrangement before the Reeds had come along. It had been the safest and most economical way.

“The inside, I suppose,” Bran said. “I always did it when it was just the three of us.”

“All right. Face toward the fire, my lord, so you can catch the warmth of the dying embers.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Bran suggested uncomfortably. He didn’t want Jojen sacrificing everything for him, even if he was pledged to his service.

“No, my lord.”

Bran flicked his eyes away.

“‘Bran,’ don’t you think you could call me ‘Bran’ if we’re sleeping together now?” His cheeks burned, but he gazed steadily into the fire.

“If you wish it, Bran,” Jojen said seriously, but finally there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Bran’s stomach swooped with happiness.

“All right,” Bran smiled, and started shuffling himself into place. He hated showing how helpless he really was in front of Jojen, but it couldn’t be helped. For his part, Jojen didn’t try to assist him or say anything while Bran worked, he just watched calmly.

Bran lay down on his side and tucked his satchel under his head. Jojen deftly moved in behind him and pulled their blankets and furs up over them. Then he sidled his arm underneath Bran’s neck, between his satchel and his shoulder, so Bran could rest his neck on it, and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed his other hand on Bran’s stomach to fit him against himself. He left that arm draped across Bran’s waist, as there was where it fit most comfortably.

Bran was having trouble breathing. Was he too young to feel things like this? He was pretty sure he was at the normal age for it. It was hard to keep track of his age without his parents’ help. Bran swallowed. But he didn’t want to think about them.

“Is this all right?”

Jojen’s voice almost surprised him, he was so deep in thought. Jojen’s head was tucked above his.

“Yes, you’re very warm,” Bran said lamely.

Then it fell silent and somewhat awkward.

“I’m sorry if I wake you up with a Dream,” Bran said, because he felt like he needed to say something, and because the concern had just occurred to him.

“I feel it more likely that I would wake you with one, but perhaps that is why Meera thought it best for us to be together,” Jojen said wisely.

Bran nodded, not having thought of that.

“It’s not a bad idea, really,” Bran ventured.

Jojen nodded against his head.

“Goodnight, Bran.”

“Goodnight, Jojen.”

Bran found it surprisingly easy to go to sleep after that. He felt warm (for once), and safe, and just a tad bit aroused, but that was all right too.

Blearily, in the middle of the cold night, Bran felt the urge to roll over, as he did once a night. This normally took a great deal of maneuvering for him, as he didn’t have his hips to help him move. Tonight he knew somewhere in his head that he shouldn’t roll over because Jojen was behind him, but his arm was just too numb, so he started the process.

He sleepily started to shuffle his elbows, the chilled air biting at his neck when the blanket fell away. No sooner had he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to do his usual flop over because it would definitely wake Jojen up than he felt himself being rolled. Jojen was twisting his hips around and arranging his legs; he saw it in the dim light of the moon rather than felt it.

Bran reclined back on his elbows. Jojen finished arranging him and laid back down, arm outstretched as before. He blinked sleepily at Bran for a moment, and, upon realizing Bran either couldn’t or wasn’t going to move toward him, shuffled his body into alignment against Bran’s. Bran tucked himself under Jojen’s chin again and pretended he wasn’t hesitant about sleeping curled into his chest. He definitely liked it. He found he could tuck his nose into the hollow of Jojen’s collarbone, and it was very comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Bran murmured. He wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for disrupting his sleep or for their current, possibly awkwardly intimate, position.

“It’s quite all right,” Jojen murmured back.

Bran found it easy to fall asleep against Jojen like this. His nose was warm and Jojen had him wrapped against him snugly. He thoughtfully hoped Jojen felt the same as he drifted back to sleep.

After that first night, Bran had an easier time than he had originally expected sleeping with Jojen next to him. They almost developed a routine—or, they did develop a routine, but Bran didn’t want to make the situation seem domestic in his head, so he didn’t call it anything.

Jojen and Bran would go to sleep with Bran facing away and curled into Jojen’s front, his head resting on his satchel and Jojen’s arm. Sometime during the night Bran would feel the need to turn over, at which point Jojen would assist Bran. Once he believed Bran was comfortable, he would pull Bran against his chest and tuck his head over Bran’s so Bran could press his nose into Jojen’s collarbone. Jojen would relax and stroke Bran’s back, and Bran would melt into sleep this way.

It was as close to wonderful as anything could be anymore.

Bran sent Osha and Rickon away, and he was miserable. His misery was alleviated somewhat when he was able to see Jon and see that he was well, and it was exhilarating to fight the Wildlings inside of Summer and Shaggydog. He had never controlled two creatures before, and it felt amazing to be able to _move_.

Bran, Jojen, and Meera stayed at the Mill where Bran had warged into Hodor to keep him quiet. Staying there had seemed the best option, seeing as Hodor had been unconscious for several hours and there was no moving him.

So Meera had made camp in the Mill, and had even dared to light a fire in the center of the room for a few hours. They had eaten well of game from the Gift, and Jojen had offered his warming services at bedtime. Bran had accepted, even though he didn’t really need them now that they were indoors.

Bran got the sense that Jojen could tell how miserable he was, and that was the real reason he had offered. So they curled up together like usual and slept well, for once comfortably warm and dry, enclosed in the Mill and each other. It was the next morning where things became awkward.

Bran was still asleep when Meera came tromping into the Mill from outdoors. She had clearly been hunting and had scored good game while in the woods around the Gift. But when Meera shook Bran awake, she had a disproportionate look of ferocious glee on her face.

“There’s a stream!” she announced. “A stream runs right through the woods, and it’s warm spring water! I’m going to bathe, and then Jojen can take you!” And she bounced off giddily to the fire pit and began skinning her catch. “Let me just prepare these and I’ll go get a bath—oh, a real bath, with soap—!” and she quite forgot about the game, tossed it on a waxcloth, and began unfurling her pack to rummage through it. “I know I have some soap in here…” she muttered to herself.

Bran flopped on his back to watch her, and that was when he realized that Jojen was still beside him. He hadn’t noticed him because he’d been lying on his back braiding a rope.

Meera huffed in frustration and said, “Jojen, look through here and find the soap so we can all get baths while I prep our meal.” And she let the pack fall to the ground and began skinning an animal again, humming, which was highly uncharacteristic of her.

Jojen rose languidly, setting his rope aside, and shuffled through the pack for Meera.

Bran was fixated on his every movement. While Jojen seemed to stoically enjoy the thought of a good bath, Bran’s mind was racing. He hoped he was succeeding in keeping his face carefully blank. Because Bran had never seen Jojen without clothes on. He’d never even seen him without his shirt on. The most skin he’d ever gotten was a nuzzle to the collarbone, and although that had felt daring, it would be nothing, actually, compared to a nude, wet, lithe Jojen walking around. He couldn’t be responsible for what his body would do.

And it wasn’t like he could say, ‘No, thanks, I’ll take myself.’ They all knew he couldn’t do it without help. So Bran remained quiet and smiled at Meera appropriately when she grinned at him from across the room.

Truthfully, a bath did sound wonderful.

Meera came back from the stream after a long while, hair wet and a grin plastered on her face.

“Hodor,” she said, “get Bran and you three go bathe. The water is wonderfully warm!”

“Hodor,” Hodor smiled, and Bran allowed himself to be scooped up.

Jojen gathered their bathing supplies, Bran gave Summer a reassuring look, and the direwolf understood his master would be back later and lowered his head back to the floor peacefully.

Once at the river, Bran told Hodor to seek out the deepest part of the stream he could find to bathe in, gave him a bar of soap and towels, and sent him away with instructions to come back “when he was good and ready.” Hodor walked out of sight smiling happily.

Bran watched him go perhaps a bit longer than he normally would have.

“My lord?” Jojen said from his left. Bran looked around at Jojen, who was standing a small distance away, looking at him. “Shall I bathe you first?”

“Er,” Bran said, clearing his throat. “We should just bathe together, there’s no sense in your clothes getting wet while you’re not washing them.”

Bran was glad his voice came out evenly. He really did think this was the most sensible course of action, but that knowledge didn’t calm his nerves any. He hoped his voice came out as indifferent.

After a moment’s thought Jojen said, “All right, you make a good point, my lord,” and began undressing without any hesitation.

Bran was not prepared for this, and he was surprised that the normally reserved Jojen was undressing so immodestly. He turned his head away abruptly. With shaking fingers he began undressing his own upper half. He was clumsy, having to lean back on his elbows, and before he was prepared for it Jojen was kneeling beside him, fingers racing over his buttons and laces and pushing the layers off him.

Bran thanked the Old gods and the New that Jojen was still wearing his breeches. With the look of concentration on Jojen’s face, Bran decided—in a moment of insanity—that he could run his eyes over Jojen’s form. This was a mistake, as the smooth, pale skin, smattered with small scars, and the sparse hair curled around his belly button that trailed lower through the halfway-unlaced breeches, made him want to knock Jojen backward and bite the adorable crinkle of concentration between his eyebrows. Bran decided this was a strange impulse and turned his head to look straight ahead again.

Being undressed by Jojen was like being undressed by a gentle breeze. He worked his garments off carefully and supported Bran at the right times so he didn’t slide sideways. The bare skin of his arm across Bran’s back as he held him up was inappropriately delicious, and when Jojen went to unlace his boots he knew he was a goner, so he blurted out,

“Could we finish undressing in the water? We’re going to have to wash our clothes soon anyway.”

“Of course, my lord,” Jojen said.

“Please, please call me Bran, seeing as we _are_ about to bathe together.”

“Yes, Bran,” Jojen said, smiling slightly. He worked both boots and socks off Bran’s feet and his own off, placing them on the grass beside each other before pulling Bran on his cot to the water’s edge.

And then quite suddenly Jojen was taking his breeches off, and he wasn’t wearing any smallclothes, and was tossing them toward the boots. Bran was sure he was visibly blushing, and he looked covertly at his covered groin to see if he’d reacted. The thing was, Bran couldn’t always feel his arousal right away, not until it got to a certain point, so he wasn’t sure if the shock of seeing Jojen undress had caused anything.

Unfortunately, it had, but Jojen was studiously not looking at Bran—concentration or embarrassment?—as he pulled Bran into the water, so Bran may have gotten by unnoticed. He was momentarily grateful, and then the cooler water was hitting him and he gasped. Yep, that was going to help keep him down, thank the gods. He squirmed on his elbows as the water covered his midsection. Then Jojen put a knee on either side of Bran’s thighs and asked politely,

“May I?”

Bran wanted to say there was any number of things he _may_ let Jojen do, but his overwhelming shame at his helplessness overtook him, and he only nodded curtly.

Jojen was quick and efficient, and although the water made it harder to get the pants and smallclothes off, Jojen didn’t complain. Bran felt guilty for this added hardship as he watched his legs being moved with a vague sense of wonder that they were, indeed, a part of him.

Jojen seemed to be mulling something over once he was finished. Bran wished he would mull quickly, because the vee of Jojen’s groin was exposed above the water and he didn’t seem to notice. Presently, Jojen said,

“Should we sit back to back so we can wash privately, and then I could work on what you aren’t able to reach?”

Bran realized Jojen was asking permission to bathe alongside him. As his vassal, he was obligated to take care of Bran first, but was asking to be equal for the time being. This was a bit irritating to Bran, as he’d already asked Jojen for parity, but he understood Jojen felt a sense of duty as a Reed to a Stark.

“Of course, Jojen,” Bran said, and if it came out softer than expected, that was all right.

Jojen allowed himself to smile, and then he maneuvered them upright into the shallow water. It pooled around their waists, and Jojen handed Bran a bar of soap and a rag over his shoulder. Bran relished the tingling traces of Jojen’s fingers on his, and their backs squelched together as Bran tried to sit up properly.

“Could you…back up a little more?” Bran asked in an embarrassed, low voice.

Jojen scooted his bum back so Bran was sitting more upright. Bran held himself erect with his abdominal muscles. It felt good to sit up straight.

“Is that all right, Bran?”

“Yes, it’s great!” he said a little too enthusiastically. He colored, but thankfully Jojen couldn’t see it.

“Do you have your soap and cloth?”

“Yes, I do.”

“All right. I will wash your back and hair once I am finished.”

“Oh, all right.”

Then Jojen set to work scrubbing himself with vigor, and Bran set to work on his own upper body.

Jojen was very thorough but also very careful not to lean so far forward that Bran couldn’t support himself. Bran scrubbed thoroughly as well, although more slowly, since he only had his fingertips to rely on for sensation while he was washing much of his lower body.

Once Jojen was done washing his own hair, he warned Bran that he was going to turn around. But there was no real need for a warning, as he held Bran up with a hand flat between his shoulder blades. Bran handed his washrag behind himself so Jojen could scrub his back.

Jojen rubbed him vigorously, and Bran shut his eyes, it felt so good. He hadn’t realized how dirty and itchy his back was until just now.

Then Jojen poured water through his hair and lathered the strands with the soap bar. Bran shuddered as his fingers worked their way in, scraping lightly against his scalp in a way that felt good.

Involuntarily, he moaned. He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed before Jojen said, with a smile in his voice,

“I know.”

And there was such warmth and mirth there that Bran let himself relax against Jojen, his forearms holding him up while the other boy massaged his scalp. A few more moans and sighs may have escaped Bran’s lips after that.

Finally, Jojen deemed Bran’s hair clean enough and set about squeezing water over it for rinsing.

“Could we go out in the water?” Bran asked abruptly. “Only, I haven’t been swimming in…years, and I used to really enjoy it.”

“If you would like to. I…I was going to go in myself, after a bit.” He sounded faintly embarrassed. “I apologize for not thinking of you, Bran.”

“Oh, it’s all right, surely,” Bran said, surprised Jojen was apologizing. “I know it’s an inconvenience to take me. But I really want to go.”

“Of course. How would you like to? Arms around my neck, or shall I loop mine under yours?” So matter-of-fact.

“Er, I think I’d like to be in front,” Bran stuttered. He flushed at his own wording, worried it would give away his reason.

Jojen, however, was unperturbed, and looped his arms under Bran’s and around him. Then he pushed off from the bank to send them floating off into the lazy stream, just far enough that he could still touch the bottom and bob around in the water. He held them upright while revolving so Bran could look around.

Bran couldn’t remember feeling this pleased and happy in a long time. He was unburdened from the weight of his useless legs, and his skin felt alive at all the points Jojen’s was pressed against it. He was seized suddenly by the idea to turn around and try kissing him, until he heard Jojen’s voice in his ear.

“Should we rinse our hair?” There was humor in his voice.

Bran craned his head around to look at Jojen.

“Oh! Your hair! That’s why you were going to get in!” Bran exclaimed.

“Yes,” Jojen said sheepishly, smile tugging at his mouth.

“All right, let’s do it.” Bran twisted around, using Jojen’s shoulders to support himself.

Jojen was smiling fondly at him, a smile Bran had never seen before. Bran had to look away before he blushed.

“I’ll take us down on three?”

Bran nodded, and then Jojen was counting, and in a whoosh of energy they were underwater. Bran was floating, weightless, strong hands gripping his biceps as he gripped strong shoulders.

Then they were above water again, gasping. Jojen was grinning, actually grinning, an oddity along with the stream.

“Again?” Bran said recklessly, and Jojen nodded once and was counting, pulling them under, and Bran shook his head back and forth so hard it hurt, his hair swirling, and he felt Jojen doing the same.

Then they were above water again, breaking the water’s pressure upon them.

“Once more?” Jojen gasped, breathless but delighted, and Bran nodded vigorously.

And they were under. Jojen used their momentum to propel them in a circle. In a burst of energy, Bran pulled himself close to Jojen, looping his arms around his neck, and when they broke the surface their bodies were flush, faces inches apart.

Jojen was gasping and laughing—perhaps he was gasping a little too much from the exertion, but Bran was too unobservant to notice—and Bran grinned at him. Bran recovered his breath quickly, accustomed to a lifetime of running and romping.

With their noses so close, Jojen made eye contact; it was unavoidable. He looked at Bran curiously, no hint of anything but ease in his eyes.

Bran was going to kiss him, he was going to go for it. Jojen was looking at him contemplatively, and that was as good a sign as any. He squeezed his looped arms experimentally around Jojen’s neck, heart pounding, and bumped his nose into Jojen’s. He couldn’t make his intentions any clearer than that. Jojen’s eyes slipped shut. It only took Bran a moment to realize that Jojen was waiting for him.

The momentum shot through Bran’s body to meet Jojen—and then he heard crunching in the grass. Both heads whipped around to see Hodor coming around the bank. Smiling, he greeted them.

“Hodor.”

Bran broke his close grip on Jojen and felt Jojen begin plodding them to shore. If Jojen’s gaze burned into the side of his face for a moment, Bran studiously ignored it.

Hodor cheerfully helped them pack up their belongings while Jojen dressed. Bran hardly had a glance at Jojen’s naked form before he dried and dressed himself, and then he dried and dressed Bran quickly. They took their dirty clothes with them, but Bran heard Jojen quietly conversing with Hodor about them coming back in the afternoon to launder the clothes before breaking camp next morning.

At the Mill, Meera was roasting the game she had caught. Jojen left Bran once Hodor settled him by the fire. Bran’s eyes followed him across the room.

“Let’s eat so we can get our clothes cleaned and be ready to move in the morning,” Meera said cheerfully. She was obviously not in a hurry at the moment to move from such a nice spot.

The group ate well, and then Jojen and Hodor left for the stream to wash everyone’s clothes, while Meera stayed behind with Bran to ready the supplies for the rest of their journey. It was unspoken that this was also for Bran’s protection, should anything happen. They were all aware that they were on the last leg of their journey to find the answer to Bran’s green dreams, and they all needed to be as prepared as they could for whatever came.

Bran laid by the fire in the middle of the floor all afternoon. Meera was keeping it going so she could make jerky. She was going to go hunting after the others had returned so they could have provisions for their trip.

Bran lay in moody thought until Hodor and Jojen returned, at which point Meera left for the hunt and Bran had to at least try to look like he wasn’t brooding. Jojen and Hodor hung the wet clothes along the walls of the Mill. Bran and Jojen did not look at each other at all, even though all three sat in silence after the chore was done.

By the time Meera had dried her catch out and Jojen and Hodor had packed the clothes away, Bran felt exhausted by his internal battle. But he had to come to one conclusion: He couldn’t sleep with Jojen anymore.

At last, it was time for bed. In the almost completely diminished light of the fire that they would not keep going during the night, Bran saw Jojen come up beside him. Bran didn’t say anything, as if he didn’t notice, because his voice was weirdly stuck in his throat. So after a moment Bran felt Jojen settle beside him. Bran rolled to look at him.

“You don’t have to, not tonight. We are indoors.” But they both knew that wasn’t the real reason Bran was giving him an out.

“I don’t want you to get cold without the fire,” Jojen said simply.

He had a point, so Bran rolled on his side in acquiescence.

“Nor I, you.”

With that, Jojen slipped up against him and pressed them close together, giving Bran his arm to lie on as usual. Bran got comfortable in the usual way, as if nothing was different.

“Goodnight, Jojen,” Bran said finally.

“Goodnight, Bran.”

It took a long time for either one of them to fall asleep, but they did not talk.

Bran was having a dream. In the dream, Jojen laid with him as he did every night, but his shirt was off. Bran’s hand was pressed against his sternum, and he was smiling ridiculously up at Jojen. But it was all right, because Jojen was smiling back.

Then they were kissing, but it was a dream so Bran couldn’t feel it in his lips. But in his chest he was bursting with happiness. Jojen was kissing him because he wanted to.

Then the dream changed again, and he was falling. He tried to kick out—but he couldn’t! His legs were dead, useless, tangled in blankets or marshes. But the falling sensation stopped, and suddenly everything felt much more real.

In his mind flashed a desperate longing he had never felt in real life. And then there was a pressure against his lips like he had never felt before, and on instinct he kissed eagerly, knowing they were Jojen’s lips he felt.

In his mind flashed words, desperate and needful—

_“I can’t—move my hips—”_

and, disparately

_“I know it was about me.”_

And there was a warm, large hand on the side of his face, lips pressing hard into his own, and he realized with a jolt this wasn’t just a green dream or even a regular dream—the pressure on his lips was happening in real life.

Bran’s eyes flew open.

He was kissing Jojen.

The arm Bran had been lying on was wrapped around his back, the other hand cupping the side of his face.

He yanked himself away abruptly. His mouth gaped open, but nothing came out. He started scrambling backwards clumsily. Jojen reached forward almost wistfully.

“Bran…”

“I—I’m sorry—I was having a dream—” and he flushed at the admission.

“You don’t have to apologize—”

But Bran was backwards off the mat before Jojen could continue.

“Bring me a blanket please,” Bran whispered tightly.

“I will move, my lord,” Jojen said at once, and stood quickly. After a moment’s hesitation he moved away without offering to help Bran back onto the sleeping mat. Bran watched him settle down near Hodor and tug a piece of blanket over himself.

Then, because there was nothing else to do, he crawled back onto the mat. It took him a while to cover himself back up without assistance. It wasn’t so warm and comfortable without Jojen. Meanwhile, his self-loathing was in full force. He could not imagine why Jojen had kissed him back. Surprise, probably. Bran fell fitfully asleep with an erection he could feel. He thought of Jojen’s blown-wide pupils and it didn’t help a bit. But he was too inexperienced to know what that meant.

It only took two nights of separation for Meera to insist they sleep together again. She could be very demanding when she wanted to be. They had traveled several miles away from the Mill, and it was as though the cold had been waiting for them. Jojen and Bran had not been talking except when they had to, but neither Meera nor Hodor seemed to notice this unusual change.

It was because of Meera’s bull-headedness that Bran found Jojen sitting beside him at bedtime, three days after the kissing disaster. Jojen sat staring into the dying fire, arms around his knees, and for some reason Bran couldn’t stop staring at him. He didn’t know what he thought this would accomplish, but it felt almost like a challenge. Like he was trying to get Jojen to admit something first. Like he was waiting for anything to happen.

Finally, after Meera had tucked in, after Hodor had lain down and fallen asleep, Jojen rested his cheek on his knees to look at Bran thoughtfully. Bran looked away immediately, at long last.

“It is very cold—” Jojen began.

“You do not have to lie with me just because your _sister_ tells you too, you are not beholden to her,” Bran bit out, intentionally cruel. He ignored the double meaning of his wording, ignored the fact that he was only acting this way because he was so very embarrassed. He was ready to unfairly place all of the blame on Jojen.

“It is very cold,” Jojen repeated calmly, “and I would like to lie with you.”

Jojen did not continue or clarify this statement, but only looked at the side of Bran’s face.

So Bran snapped out, “What does _that_ mean?” He felt strung-out, lightheaded; this was too much conversation after days of separation.

Jojen turned his face to look at the fire once again, tucked his nose in between his knees for a moment. He looked small and folded-up when Bran looked at him, and it was this that made Bran hold his tongue. He was, perhaps, being most unfair, cruel even. This entire situation was _his_ fault, not Jojen’s.

Jojen seemed to be deliberating something carefully, and when he was done he turned his head slowly to Bran, looked him in the eye.

“I mean to say that I would like to lie down with you because I want to. Not because my sister tells me to.” Jojen swallowed, but didn’t clarify any further.

“But what does that _mean_?” Bran said, voice low and desperate. He suddenly felt much too young for this, whatever this was. He felt like there was some sort of meaning here that he was missing, and if Jojen didn’t explain he was going to be a coward and let the meaning be lost to his purposeful obtuseness.

Jojen suddenly looked worried and guilty, and he kept his eyes low when he spoke next.

“I know it was about me. Your dream. I was there, in your mind. I didn’t mean to be, but sometimes when you sleep… Sometimes when you sleep, your mind reaches out to mine. I think because it knows there is another one like it right there. And I usually am able to shut my mind off, push yours back to dream alone, but I—I—I was too desirous of what I saw there, that I opened my mind up. And let you in. And your feelings felt so real, when I felt them in the dream, that I allowed you to kiss my lips. And I kissed you back. And I am sorry, that I allowed that to happen. I shouldn’t have, my lord. So I understand why you don’t wish me to be near you. But I want it all the same.”

Bran could see the tears brimming in Jojen’s eyes when he raised them again, looking Bran straight on even though he could see the shame and embarrassment shining there. It was duty and adoration all at once, and Bran suddenly couldn’t stand it.

“_What_?” he hissed out. “_What_?” And Jojen flinched away, dropped his eyes to his knees again. He let his tears spill over and out, let a sob come out silently.

“_No_!” Bran said too loudly in his frustration. He looked around quickly, but the others did not stir, worn out from their travels as they were. “By the gods, stop that, Jojen. I am Bran, firstly, and secondly, _you _are not the one who should be apologizing!” He was hissing his words again.

“What do you mean, my lo—Bran?” Jojen asked, brow wrinkled as he looked his way.

“I _mean_, Jojen,” Bran bit out, so exasperated he could hardly think, “I have wanted to kiss you for months and months, unsure if that was something I was supposed to be wanting or not, _completely_ sure you did not feel the same because why would you? And I find out you have been _holding yourself back_ and now I’m just completely—completely—completely frustrated that we aren’t just doing it already!”

“Doing what already?” Jojen asked, looking more confused than ever. Sometimes, for being the smartest person Bran knew, Jojen could be alarmingly stupid.

“_Kissing_! We could be kissing instead of talking, and yet here we are talking!” Bran hissed.

“Oh,” Jojen said, blinking in surprise. He looked away from Bran, sort of dazed, and it suddenly struck Bran how young Jojen was, only his age probably, no matter how much older he seemed at times.

“So, you want to lie with me, and I want to lie with you, and it’s warm anyway, as you like to point out, so I think we should. And then we could add kissing, since we are both interested in that as well,” Bran said, as if that solved the matter.

Jojen still looked dazed but interested as he said softly, “Yes, we could.”

“All right then, come on,” Bran said decisively, and began shuffling into place on the mat. It only took a moment for Jojen to move and come lie down in his usual way. But instead of rolling to spoon into Jojen’s front, Bran rested his head on Jojen’s outstretched arm and shuffled closer facing him.

He suddenly felt rather nervous, expectant and anxious all at once. In the next moment, Jojen seemed to come out of the dazed stupor and back to himself. He looked down with his usual unreadable expression, but now he lifted a tentative hand and touched Bran’s cheek, ran his fingers along his jaw.

Bran’s breath felt shallow and restless all of a sudden. Jojen’s eyes flicked over his face, taking it in like he was categorizing every characteristic, and then he was swooping down to press his dry lips to Bran’s.

Bran’s heart thundered in his chest; his hand flew up to clench at Jojen’s tunic. But he kissed him back as best he knew how—which was not at all, just lips moving against lips, but, oh, it was so much more than he had expected.

The friction of those dry lips, the puff of air against his cheek when Jojen exhaled, the eager shuffling as Jojen leaned forward more, trying to get closer, press harder—he wanted this forever. It didn’t matter that it seemed like they could never get their angles right, that their noses and their teeth kept bumping, that Jojen’s hands were very firmly _not_ on his body, while his own hands fisted in Jojen’s shirt, raked through his hair. This was Jojen, and this was _real_. He was what he wanted, and here was where he wanted to stay.

Their lips smacked, their breath huffed, and Bran was leaning further in, trying to press into Jojen everywhere he could reach. He didn’t care if Jojen felt how hard he was—he _wanted_ Jojen to feel, know what he did to him. His mind felt muddled and far away at the same time, like any good sense it had in it was comfortably distant and unobtrusive. Jojen’s hand was fidgeting on his cheek, stroking across his throat and then back up, long fingers flitting behind his ear, and Bran couldn’t help the desperate, strung-out sound that left his mouth. He _needed_, he needed—_something_.

Jojen pulled away at that, panting through parted lips. Bran looked at him hazily, eyes cracked and glassy.

“That was good,” Jojen said.

“Mm, yeah it was,” Bran said muzzily, trying to burrow further toward Jojen to get back to his mouth.

Jojen’s hand petted down his neck, slid over his shoulder to hold him back. Tender but firm.

“I mean—I also mean, I think that was good, for tonight. We should—we should stop. Before it goes too far.” His voice sounded stretched thin, but purposeful.

Bran couldn’t help the whining sound that came up and out of his throat.

“Really? That’s it? How would we go too far? How? We don’t have to stop.” Bran sounded desperate, even to his own ears.

“We need to sleep,” Jojen said, evading the question and sounding entirely unconvincing about it.

Bran made a very uncultured but very expressive noise of his frustration, letting his face burrow into Jojen’s arm instead. He _knew_ Jojen’s sense was good, but he didn’t _like_ it.

“And perhaps,” Jojen began tentatively, pausing like he was checking himself. But he seemed to allow himself to go on as he said, “Perhaps we could kiss again? Tomorrow night, maybe?” He was smiling at Bran as he said it, adorably hopeful.

“Yes, definitely yes,” Bran said immediately, grinning ridiculously. “Every night.”

Jojen grinned back, and it was only with a little shuffling and assistance from Jojen that Bran curled into his usual comfortable position and was able to fall contentedly asleep.

The kissing became a regular occurrence. For several weeks on their journey, Bran would eagerly look forward to the nighttime so he could kiss Jojen again. Jojen did not seem able to hold back his eagerness either. As soon as the other two were asleep, Jojen and Bran would cuddle into each other and kiss until their lips were sore. It made Bran feel giddy and lightheaded, in the best way. If they woke in the morning with cracked and chapped lips, well, that was just the price they had to pay. They would lick the dryness away with their tongues later that night.

Bran couldn’t be sure, but he felt like their kissing was improving, if that was a thing that was possible. The introduction of Jojen’s tongue into his mouth was an unexpected but very welcome surprise; it was a surprise to Jojen as well, if Jojen’s reaction of pulling away immediately with wide eyes was anything to go by. His comically shocked expression made Bran giggle and pull him close, trying again, this time with Bran being the one initiating the contact. It was Jojen’s turn to moan into his mouth at that—which sent a thrill down Bran’s spine. Jojen was normally so quiet he was almost silent when they kissed, his fear of waking the others paramount.

Their feverish, nighttime kissing was the only thing Bran had to look forward to during their travels. The interpretation of Bran’s green dreams was stagnant without the insight they were desperately hoping the Three-Eyed Raven would provide, and the cold was biting all the time now. They were nearly there, nearly to the answer, and Bran didn’t know what to expect or what to do once they reached their destination. What’s more, the nearer they approached the Wall, the scarcer the game was. Meera traveled farther and farther away from their campfire each afternoon just to catch birds, sometimes. On the nights when no supper was to be had, there was usually more cuddling than kissing during Jojen and Bran’s nighttime ritual.

What’s more, Jojen seemed to get sadder and sadder the closer they got to the Wall. He looked drawn and peaky, and while this could easily be explained away by their lack of food, there seemed to be a sadness inside him that he would not speak to Bran about. On nights when this sadness seemed to tug at him especially, Bran would kiss him slowly and languidly, let him pour his feelings out of his soul and into Bran’s mouth. Afterward, they would curl into each other, Bran’s nose tucked against Jojen’s neck, their hearts thrumming together.

Meeting Samwell Tarly at the Nightfort hadn’t exactly boosted his morale about going beyond the Wall, but it had cemented his plan to do so. He had the dragonglass from Sam, and Jojen and Meera were positive this was a step in the right direction. However, the night after Sam and Gilly had headed south seemed to be the worst for Jojen. His sadness was inconsolable. Bran and he laid together, arms around one another. And then, abruptly, Jojen was kissing him.

Bran responded in kind, but he was confused. Normally when Jojen got like this, he wasn’t up for much besides some soft kissing. But this was insistent, desperate. Bran didn’t mind, but he…wondered.

Jojen’s hand stroked the side of Bran’s face, something Bran had learned that he loved. It made him melt all over. And then, most unusually, the hand slid lower, over his shoulder, chest, around to the back. Was Jojen gripping his bum? He couldn’t be sure…but he was pretty sure.

Bran broke away, confusion written all over his face. “What…?” he began, without knowing where he was going.

“I…” Jojen looked equally conflicted, his brow crinkled guiltily. “I…want to touch you, before we go over the Wall tomorrow. Before anything happens, and we aren’t able to,” he struggled out finally.

“Why, what’s going to happen?” Bran said quickly, more perceptive than Jojen probably wished for.

Jojen paused for a long moment, looking at him, the same crinkled look of concern on his face. But all he said was,

“Anything could happen. Anything could happen, and I want to be with you tonight. Before it does. Before we don’t get the chance. I want to be with you,” Jojen let out in a rush, his words laced with so much desperation it made Bran concerned instead of turned on.

“All right. All right. I want to be with you too, of course I do.” But Bran didn’t know what to do, or say. He didn’t know really what Jojen meant. He knew there were _things_, things other people did that he was sure they could probably do as well, but he just didn’t…know. He didn’t know if that was what Jojen meant, or if he meant he wanted to be here, beside him. Bran wanted both things, even though he didn’t know what the latter really was at all, but the most the two of them ever did was kiss, and that was nice too.

Jojen reached out to hold Bran’s face in both hands, expression earnest.

“I care about you deeply, Brandon Stark. More than I should care for you. More than I should care for my liege,” he said.

The entirety of Bran’s insides fluttered, and his head felt light again, like they were kissing already, but all he said was, “Oh, stop.” And then because Jojen seemed to think he meant ‘stop everything all together’, Bran said quickly, “Stop with that ‘my lord’ shite, I’m just Bran,” and kissed him.

Jojen responded immediately, licking against his mouth. There was no preamble this time, just an urgent need to be close. Jojen’s hands stayed on Bran’s face, guiding the kiss, while Bran’s hands tugged him closer, wrapped around his back. Bran bunched Jojen’s shirt in his fists, kneading his back, trying to touch without touching too much. But this time, this one time, Jojen urged him on. They never touched anywhere but the face and chest, never touched under their clothes. But now Jojen guided Bran’s hand under the shirt he was bunching up, kissing him all the while.

Cold fingers slid over Jojen’s skin, and Jojen shivered, and Bran shivered too, but for different reasons. Bran’s palm set to exploring, feeling too-thin ribs, the curve in his back that lead to his bum. His fingers wanted to explore under the pants, but he was unsure.

Before he could make the decision to go under or not, Jojen detached his mouth so he could slide his own hand under Bran’s shirt. It was Bran’s turn to shiver from the cold, but he didn’t even notice because his eyes were fixed on Jojen’s face in the dark, fascinated by his shaky, rapid breathing, his darting eyes.

Jojen’s fingers flitted tentatively, almost reverently, over Bran’s side, chest, pushing his shirt up as they went. Jojen just kept looking the more skin was exposed; Bran didn’t know what could be so fascinating about him—but he was sure glad Jojen was interested.

Bran remembered to move his hands in the next moment, and they made an awkward, jumbled mess of limbs as they tried to touch each other at the same time. Soon they were huffing muffled laughs against each other as their hands followed planes of previously unexplored skin.

Bran felt the sparse hair across Jojen’s chest, the sharp protuberance of his shoulder blades. An idea sparked in his mind, and he nuzzled forward to kiss at Jojen’s collarbone above the collar of his shirt. Everything about him was so sharp and angular; Bran wanted to touch him everywhere until he was soft and warm all over.

It was a heady feeling, touching and being touched. Just the allowance of it made Bran into a melted boneless mess. But Jojen’s added touches of affection—pecking his lips in between exploring his skin, the way he repeatedly stroked his hand down Bran’s side past the point Bran could feel, then back up and over his back and chest—left him warm and muzzy.

_What_ Jojen was trying to get at with all this attention was beyond him, but he liked it all the same. He was ready to be taken on this ride; he would continue this journey like they had traveled together all this time. If Jojen was leading, he trusted where they were going.

He liked how Jojen swooped in to kiss his neck, would nuzzle down and mouth at his collarbone, kiss back up his neck to his ear. Fingers tangled in his hair as Jojen whispered kisses over his ear and back to his mouth. The heat in Jojen’s expression when he raked his eyes over him had him going wild, had him arching forward and trying to move his hips across the mat.

Bran very insistently pulled Jojen back to his lips, kissed him feverishly, anticipation unfurling across his belly. As if Jojen knew, suddenly his hand was there, stroking, stroking, and quite abruptly that hand was fumbling with the strings on his pants.

Bran let out a stuttered, surprised gasp, pulling away to gasp into the air. His breath came out in a cloud, and through it he could see Jojen watching him with dark eyes. The hand on his pants didn’t move, but the fingers fidgeted.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments. The pieces of what was going on clicked in Bran’s head—of course, pleasuring each other, that’s what Jojen meant by all this. Quickly, Bran was nodding, urging him on.

“Yes, yeah, okay, you can,” he babbled out, aware of how wrecked and odd he sounded, his voice grating out of his throat. He couldn’t help but be aware of how aroused he was either, of how much he wanted to be touched there along with the rest of him.

Jojen stayed completely still for entirely too long—long enough that Bran thought perhaps he had said the wrong thing after all—and then the hand was cupping, squeezing him through his breeches, and his body lit up.

_Wow_. That was very different from when he had touched himself, and this was over his clothes. He made an undignified and needy noise in his throat, let it whimper away into nothing when Jojen squeezed again, exploring the shape of him over his pants. He stroked and traced, tentative but eager, and Bran couldn’t help but relate.

Before he could even think about it, he flopped on his back to undo his breeches himself—he had the smallclothes to contend with, too, after all—and Jojen quickly cottoned on and helped him pull them down so that he was exposed. The cold air bit as his privates, and the pair quickly shoved the furs back up to their shoulders; the covers had traveled rather far down during their exploration of each other.

They cuddled close together, huffing out breath and giggling stupidly, but Bran was intensely aware of Jojen’s proximity, of the hand resting in the curve of his waist and that his erection was brushing against the rough fabric of Jojen’s breeches. His own breeches were notched under his bum; he was pretty sure, as Jojen was sliding his palm up and down his side and hip again, this time unimpeded by fabric.

When Jojen grazed the back of his knuckles over his erection, as though asking for permission, Bran was too far gone to do anything but whine. Jojen leaned over and kissed him as he wrapped his hand around him and tugged.

It felt so good, Bran actually wanted to cry. He desperately tried to arch up into the fist, but the gods be damned he _couldn’t_. He was so frustrated, he kissed Jojen harder, biting into his lips, and for some reason that made Jojen groan into his mouth and grip him tighter. The gods be blessed, it was such a relief. Jojen seemed to take the hint, because he kept sliding his hand just like that, using the soft skin of the shaft to slide rhythmically up and down.

He kept kissing Bran, too, and it was almost too much. It was almost too much to feel this good, to feel this connected to someone he cared about, to be touched by that same person. Jojen’s thumb came out on the upstroke to touch the liquid pooling at his head, curiously, and Bran would have cried out except that his mouth was firmly covered by Jojen’s.

He writhed desperately, trying to thrust, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know why he was almost crying, or what he even wanted. He _needed_ something, something else or something more, but he couldn’t verbalize it, couldn’t even think what it would be.

Jojen kept stroking him, firm and good, and it was such a relief that he wasn’t stopping. Without being aware of when it had happened, their mouths had disconnected and Bran’s hands had found their way to Jojen’s shoulders. He was using that to leverage himself forward in his desperate attempts to thrust. They weren’t very satisfactory, but they were something.

“I can’t… I can’t move my hips,” he panted out, unable to think of what he was really trying to tell Jojen.

“Oh,” Jojen said, and his hand stilled. _Why why why_, screamed in Bran’s head. He rutted forward desperately, trying to reinitiate contact, but Jojen’s hand was pulling away. _No no no_, his brain screamed.

But then Jojen was pushing him on his back again, and he was leaning over him with his hands on either side of his head. Eyes dark and intent, he kissed him, licking sloppily into his mouth.

“I want you. So much,” Jojen breathed against his ear, and then he disappeared under the furs. Bran didn’t have time to process how very good Jojen was at hiding, or what Jojen’s action could possibly mean, because at the same time he saw the bulge of Jojen’s head by his crotch, he felt Jojen’s mouth on his prick.

Bran’s entire body bowed at that, spine arching and head snapping back. His breaths came out in open-mouthed pants, and he was suddenly aware of the stars shining in the sky overhead, for some reason.

Jojen’s whole mouth was around him, and it was indescribable. Liquid heat and melting stars, the stars that were blurring above him as the tears poured from his eyes. His back was going to snap because it couldn’t stop arching.

Jojen’s mouth descended on him, slow and delicious, and that suck up his shaft made Bran’s hands slither under the covers to tangle in Jojen’s hair. The sucking itself was relentless, as eager as it was; Jojen kept the up and down movement going while tasting Bran with his tongue. It was so perfect, the tight pressure around him, the wet, eager heat; the way Jojen’s hands scrabbled to hold onto his wrists—not to push him away, but to make him cling tighter, make him feel what he was doing to him.

Jojen seemed to be enjoying doing this as much as Bran enjoyed having it done—and it was this thought that was suddenly too much for him, that had Bran coming undone into Jojen’s mouth. He spilled himself across his tongue, crying and gasping, and he couldn’t see the stars anymore. He was focused inward, on every overwhelming sensation, and he was only dimly aware that Jojen was sucking him clean with tender care as he came down off his high.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he saw Jojen poke his head out from under the covers beside him. He had moved back up, and his face was rather flushed. His lips looked shiny and inviting, but all Bran could do was stare at them in a glazed stupor.

Jojen’s breath huffed out in small, fast exhales. He was watching Bran’s face, and after a time Bran was able to focus outside of himself enough to be aware of Jojen’s scrutiny. He suddenly very much wanted to be as close to Jojen as possible. When he started shuffling toward him, Jojen immediately went to assist, pulling his legs closer and his breeches back up; he slotted one of his own legs between his knees.

Bran’s head found its rest butted up against Jojen’s shoulder, and Jojen seemed content to lie there with him, letting his breathing even out. But Jojen had to want something as well, Bran thought. He couldn’t not feel the burning desire to be touched and doted on like Bran had been feeling such a short time previously. Right?

Feeling tentative again, Bran rested his hand that wasn’t squished between the two of them on Jojen’s waist. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to do, but he wanted to try. Jojen’s shirt was back down over his skin, and Bran found the hem and slid his hand under again, marveling in how exciting it still was to touch Jojen like this.

Jojen’s eyes fluttered shut. He exhaled through his nose, buried his face down toward Bran’s hair. He curled in around him as Bran stroked gently over his back, feeling those now-familiar planes with such ease. His other arm wormed its way down between them, and he pressed the back of his hand up against Jojen’s crotch through his pants.

He relished in the feeling of the hard length there for only a moment before Jojen stuttered out,

“No. Don’t.”

Completely confused, Bran pulled his hand away, shifted back so he could look up at Jojen’s face. The expression there was conflicted again. Finally, Jojen met Bran’s eyes, looking pained.

“It wasn’t for that.”

They just stared at each other for a moment. When Bran said nothing, Jojen struggled out,

“I’ve wanted…you for so long. I’ve already taken too much. It wouldn’t be right for me to receive anything from you.”

“By the gods—” Bran started, ready to be angry.

“No, Bran. _Please_. Let this be—how it is.” Jojen seemed close to tears.

“_Why_,” Bran ground out, impatient. “I _want_ to. I want to touch you as well.”

Jojen shook his head quickly.

“Please let it be. Please,” Jojen whispered.

Bran stared at him, hard, for a second. And then in the next moment all his anger was gone, replaced only by that same dread and worry he had carried with him this entire journey. Deflated, he reached out to take Jojen’s hand.

“Will you let me hold you for the night, then? I could give you that.”

Jojen gazed at him, nodded once.

“If that’s what you want.”

“All right then.”

Only a moment’s hesitation, then Jojen was rolling so Bran could tuck himself up against his back. It was a different experience from what he was used to, and he suddenly understood how very uncomfortable it must be for Jojen to have Bran sleeping on his arm all night—but that only made him more determined to hold Jojen close.

Jojen helped him tug his body around Jojen’s, and then he was nestling his head above Jojen’s, sliding his palm to rest against his heart. His back was unusually cold, even with the furs, but he didn’t care. He could feel Jojen trying to control his sobs within his arms. Bran held him close until he fell asleep. And then, exhausted, Bran lost consciousness as well.

It wasn’t until long after, when Bran no longer cared either way about being Bran, that he realized why Jojen had cried so much that night. It was only with a vague sort of curiosity that the Three-Eyed Raven looked at Bran’s story. It was odd looking back on Bran’s life and seeing all the emotions there. So much inner turmoil had Bran’s focus; so much outer turmoil should have taken precedent. That this one boy, this one short period in his own life, should have held so much value to Bran was both perplexing and entirely mundane. But it didn’t matter, because he didn’t care anymore. They were but memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bran could have kept warm beside Summer I guess, but where would the fun in that be?

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two together, and I have plans for a College AU for them that is considerably happier.


End file.
